I was still in contact with a few people after everything fell apart. I’d met them through Alex — my former roommate and the source of every disaster that followed. I cursed her every time she crossed my mind. I hated her with every ounce of my being. She assaulted my autistic son, Rowan. She locked me out of my own house. She sold all my possessions. She derailed my entire life. She was the reason for my downfall, and I blamed her for everything.
Sonia and Wade were the only two people I still talked to. A few others checked in occasionally, but none lived anywhere near me. Wade texted almost every day to make sure I was okay. Sonia… I wasn’t so sure about. She always said she was there for me, told me to reach out anytime — but whenever I did, she was busy with school or her kids. She didn’t actually help. Mostly she pumped me for information about where I was staying and what I was doing.
I started to realize everything I told her somehow made its way back to Alex. I didn’t want Alex knowing anything about my life now that I was finally out from under her control. But she always found out. I’d see her social media posts — indirect jabs, little digs about what a terrible friend I’d been. Sonia made sure I saw them, thinking I’d find them funny. I didn’t. Her happiness over what she’d done to us was disgusting. Nothing about that woman was funny anymore.
One afternoon Sonia called with a “solution” to my living in the car. She told me I needed to check myself into a detox center because I was an addict. Addict? Really? Other than soda and weed, I wasn’t addicted to anything. But she insisted those were enough to get me a roof over my head until the state found me housing. It doesn’t work that way, and I knew it, but she wouldn’t let it go.
Then she said I was a neglectful parent to Rowan and never gave him what he needed. That was a lie, and she knew it. Arguing with her was pointless. She told me the only way she’d “support” me — not that she ever did — was if I checked into rehab and let them “fix” me.
I hung up on her.
Almost immediately, Wade called to tell me she was right. That I should do it. That this was the answer. I told him it wasn’t happening and ended the call. How dare they demand I fake a drug addiction just to get a place to stay? Their support came with strings I refused to tie around my own neck.
That was the moment I decided I was done. They were the only people left who knew the hell Alex had put me through, but I didn’t need friends like that. I texted them both, told them I didn’t need help with conditions attached, and that I was finished. Then I blocked them.
Only four of us knew the full story. If Alex knew anything, it had to come from one of them. Friends like that weren’t friends at all. Keeping my life away from her mattered more than keeping people around me. She didn’t deserve to know she’d succeeded in destroying my existence.
Maybe it was foolish pride. Maybe it would come back to bite me. But I didn’t care. I was alone again — but at least my life was finally mine.
Funny how quiet life gets when you stop feeding the leaks,
K.
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